Page 6 of The Baking Games
I pause for a long moment and consider ending the call before I finally speak. “Most parents let their kids pursue their own dreams. Live their own lives. They just want them to be happy.”
“Darling, you should know by now that we’re not most parents.”
Oh, I know better than anyone.
SAVANNAH
I’m standing in the bakery section of the grocery store, staring at a birthday cake I’m making for a little girl’s fifth birthday. She picked this princess cake from the laminated book we give customers when they want to order something. Of course, some of them order online, which is great because I hate interacting with customers.
I’m an outgoing, positive person, but customers can be awful. They’re often rude and snarky, as if I don’t already hate my life getting up at the crack of dawn to make cakes that come in a bag.
Big Thelma isn’t here today. Said something about dental work, but I think she just wanted a day off. That’s fine with me. I love the quiet mornings in the bakery. I can dream of better days when I run my own bakery in some small town where everybody comes by for a morning bagel and a chat.
Instead, I’m standing in stark fluorescent lighting, smelling the seafood case the next department over. A lobster stares at me from the tank, and I’m overwhelmed with guilt. I’d free him if I had any idea where one would take a lobster on a Tuesday morning in the middle of Georgia.
I understand his plight in a way. We’re both trapped here. If I could figure out a way for us to run away together right now, I’d totally be up for it. Me and my lobster best friend, making a life for ourselves on the run.
I look back down at the cake. The little girl’s name is Leighton, so I write it out in fancy script, being sure it reads correctly. The colors are purple, hot pink, and white, with thick frosting around the edges. The frosting tastes like someone dumped sugar in a bag. I can’t eat it. It’s pretty disgusting. Customers would go nuts if they let me make my famous caramel buttercream icing. But no. Everything must be uniform and by the book. Literally.
As I carry the cake to the refrigerator, I feel my phone buzzing in my apron. I carefully set the cake down, not wanting to have to remake it, and then pull my phone out. I take off my thin plastic gloves and toss them in the trash, but not before leaving a dollop of pink icing on my phone screen.
“Sadie? Is everything okay?” She rarely calls this early, so I immediately assume the worst. Even though I’m not her actual mother, I feel like one.
“Everything’s fine. I wanted to tell you about something I just found out.”
“What?” I sit on a high stool behind the doughnut case.
“I was online checking Instagram, and there’s a new reality show.”
“Another reality show? Shocker. Isn’t everything on TV a reality show?” I say, brushing some stray flour on the metal counter onto the floor.
“No, sis, listen. This is a baking show.”
“A baking show? Like a competition show?”
I can hear her clicking around on her laptop. “Kind of. It’s a competition for both trained and self-taught bakers, but you’re also locked in a house with everyone.”
“Locked in a house? What is it? A horror show?”
“They have cameras on you 24/7, so there’s the drama between contestants mixed with baking competitions.”
“Why are you telling me this, Sadie?” I stand and walk over to today’s schedule to see what I need to work on next. Oh great. Another birthday cake. This one’s a train cake for Dalton, who’s turning three.
“Because I think you should apply.”
I let out a loud laugh that reverberates around the kitchen. “Me? Why?”
“Because of the prizes.”
“I have a job, sis. I can’t just leave my life behind for some reality show.”
“It’s only six weeks!”
“Almost two whole months? Are you kidding me?”
“I think you’ll change your tune when you hear what the prizes are.”
“Fine. What are they?”